Janus
by juno57
Summary: In a city with two faces, who do you trust? One-shot exploring Cole's thoughts and rationale for why he did what he did, and a reflection on how his situation mirrors the game's theme. Takes place during the Vice Case folder. **SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN'T FINISHED THE GAME** ColexElsa because both characters are awesome together, and need more love :


**Hey all! I'd recently played through L.A. Noire again, and fell in love with its awesome plot, yet again! Cole Phelps, in my opinion, was an awesome protagonist– not to mention quite attractive :) I laughed at his driving comments, ("Just a scratch"), and his girly scream when he gets hit by a car or falls off a roof XD. **

****SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN'T FINISHED THE GAME!****

**I also saw that there were literally no fanfictions with him and a woman, (his wife or Elsa), so I was motivated to make my own :P I debated which woman to pair him with, and decided that his relationship with Elsa was more complex, and also suited the theme of the game that stuck out to me. That's not to say I condone affairs, however, there is something so captivating about their affair that it prompted me to want to write this! Lemme know what you think of it, as I have not attempted to write anything for this style (40's era). Just as a note, the large block sections at the beginning and end of this story that are written in italics, I imagined them being spoken in Herschel's voice, (as he narrates the beginning and end of the game). **

**P.S Be sure to check out some of my other fanfics :3**

**All characters belong to Team Bondi and Rockstar Games, not me :( duh, I don't own L.A. Noire. If I did, there would be more ColexElsa ! **

**Enjoy and Review!**

* * *

_Los Angeles, California. In its height, the brightest gem in America's crown– at the same time, the biggest hub of villainy and malfeasance. Young girls, who dreamt of being the next Monroe or Davis, lined up for the casting couch with kinky old men. Dirty cops who followed the orders of the biggest names in violence and dope pedalling in L.A. In a city full of phony set pieces and a barrage of fictional characters, it was no wonder society had two faces. The public side, where all was utopic, new housing for G.I's, new roads, and fundraising for their boys overseas. Then there was the slimy, putrid brother– the private side. White-collar crime lords who controlled anything and everything; Big Wigs who made millions off of screwing the little guy, drunk on power and a sense of invincibility. Some tried to better this corrupted city they lived in, but grew tired of struggling fruitlessly against something they knew they couldn't beat; how do you save a city from corruption, when corruption is the very foundation it rests on?_

* * *

A sleek, black 1947 Chevrolet Styline pulled up smoothly out front of _The Blue Room_, a swanky jazz club frequented by B-list actors and jazz-loving hopheads. A steady drizzle of rain plinked off the hood of the car and pattered against the stripped cloth of the club's awning. Detective Cole Phelps of the LAPD stepped out of his car, and tugged the rim of his fedora lower to shelter himself. He frowned slightly as he strode to the door, the chill of the night air and the rain putting a damper on his already disagreeable mood. He had been on the trail of the latest in a series of murders, all of which seemed to increasingly point towards the troublesome morphine war in the city, and a scandal of momentous proportions. He had spent the past 14 hours driving across town, chasing ghosts, and interrogating suspects fruitlessly. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, trying to ignore the pain in his side. Weather like this wasn't particularly kind on his war wound– especially after getting into it with two suspects who liked to solve problems with their fists. Roy hadn't been much help either: he only managed to aggravate Cole's already grated nerves with his incessant drivel. Roy seemed hell-bent on shooting down Cole's propositions to investigate further the shady corporate leaders who seemed to have a hand in all that was transpiring.

He strode through the doors, pausing for a moment to brush some droplets off of his jacket. After a moment, he gave up, deciding instead to hand it to the coat check girl, as it would only give him a chill to sit in the air-conditioned interior with a soaked jacket. He nodded curtly at Alfonse, striding through the open door into the lounge. His eyes scanned the interior, force of habit in his line of work, for anything out of the ordinary. He chalked his caution up to his lack of sleep and paranoia. As he sat down, he berated himself for even coming here. As soon as he got off shift, he should be racing home to see his wife and daughters, god knows how long it had been since he had had any quality time with them. Lately he had been too exhausted to even drive home at the end of his shifts, instead, opting to sleep at work for the few hours before his next one started. Even if he did return home, everyone would either be asleep, or out of the house– Cole tensed at the fact that he faltered in coming up with the ages of his two girls.

_My god– how long has it been? Would they even recognize me?_

He shook his head, a sad smile across his lips. _Just overreacting again Phelps– when exactly was the last time you got more than 3 hours of sleep?_

A smiling young waitress greeted him, "How you doing tonight Cole?" she asked, setting down a highball glass of Scotch on the rocks.

He accepted the drink, taking a sedate sip of his usual, "Next question." He quipped, smiling slightly, "Could you give this to Ms. Lichtmann please?" He handed her a small envelope, "It's important."

"Sure thing Mister." She gazed at him for a moment, sympathy and understanding for the sleep-deprived detective, drowning his sorrows alone yet again. She turned on her heel, leaving him to nurse his wounds.

He sat back in his chair, gradually feeling sweet numbness wash over him, quieting the questions and the gnawing feeling in his stomach that there was something off about all the arrests he'd made recently. He closed his eyes, listening to the soothing instrumental melody accompanied by Elsa's sultry tones. He inhaled slowly, the scent of cigarettes and perfume, alcohol and anguish permeated his senses. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, arms crossed over each other. He gazed over at Elsa, crooning away some sad melody of star-crossed love. Her eyes heavy lidded and mournful, crying out to a crowd of sympathetic couples and singles who retreated from their own depression by listening to someone else's. She stood, clutching the microphone, brow slightly furrowed as her melody crescendoed. Cole didn't hesitate in gazing at her expression, white knuckles, eyes closed, eyebrows lifted in an expression that reminded Cole of many an evening rendezvous with the German beauty. Her eyelids lifted as she took in the soft sound of applause, gazing up into the crowd, she instinctively looked over to Detective Phelps' table. A slight smirk tugged the corner of her lips as she saw that he was in fact there, smiling back at her from beneath his trademark fedora. She smiled, curtseying slightly for her audience, dipping lower to let Cole enjoy the view her low-cut dress offered. She sauntered out from under the stage lights, and headed backstage for her break. She stopped briefly to accept Cole's note from the waitress; although he couldn't see it, a small smile spread across her features.

* * *

From his seat, Cole watched her sashaying hips make their way over to the backstage entrance, stopping briefly to take something from the waitress. Cole glanced down at his hands, noticing he was fiddling with his wedding band. He cursed softly and twisted it slightly. Some days it felt heavier, more like a shackle than a promise. He loved his wife; at least he kept telling himself that. He knew he could never leave his two girls without a father, but there was just something different about his feelings after the war. When, or if, he returned home, he wouldn't be greeted with smiles or hugs; instead his wife would berate him for his tardiness, and his girls would be fast asleep– that is if anyone was home at all. Marie would be tired from a long day of domestic work and running errands, sometimes she would even be in bed by the time he got home, putting a damper on any of Cole's romantic ideas. As much as he wanted to respect her needs above all else, Cole had his own needs that weren't being met at home. How could he continue to blame himself for this…affair with Elsa if his wife would push him away every time he tried for some intimacy? Cole didn't know which was worse– the fact that he was beginning to agree with the rationalization of his actions, or the fact that they were right.

He sat there, absorbed in his thoughts, three empty glasses sat on his table. He stared at the wavering flame in the candle, its wick barely taller than the liquid pool of wax it sat in. The young waitress interrupted his reverie again; she smiled as she placed his bill on the table, along with a small folded piece of paper. Cole's eyes drifted from his empty glass to the papers, he fingered the folded paper, deftly unfolding it after a moment.

_10:05, my dressing room. _

_ E. _

A slight smile twitched on his lips for a fraction of a second, before being pulled back under the usual placid expression he wore. He glanced over to the backstage entrance as he held the small paper over the candle, watching it burn. When he had paid the bill, and ensured the paper had been burned beyond recognition, he stood and sauntered over to Elsa's backstage room. He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the light difference, and again, trying to rationalize what he was about to do.

* * *

He knocked softly on her door, glancing around him as he waited in silence. The door opened, revealing Elsa's seductive smile as she saw Cole's face.

"Come in, won't you?" Elsa simpered, holding the door open invitingly.

Cole closed the door behind him, and grabbed Elsa's waist, pulling her towards him rather forcefully.

"Anxious are we?" She mused, grabbing his leather holster, and looking up into his blue eyes lustily. As always, she knew why he was here– although usually he waited until he could meet her at her apartment.

_He must be pretty hard up_

Cole never really spent much time talking with Elsa, at least not until he had less pressing matters on his mind. Tonight he was more eager than usual to make her; he hadn't managed to catch a break in over four days, and so hard up was an understatement on Elsa's part.

"You could say that." He breathed into her neck, his tone husky with anticipation. He tossed his hat over on her dresser before turning his attention back to her. His lips brushed against the side of her neck, tasting the perfume she wore– the same perfume that would linger on his clothes and skin the next day. Elsa turned her head to oblige him, eyes closing in the pleasure his ministrations brought. She slid her hands along the leather straps around his shoulders, searching for some way to remove them. For the time being, they could remain, they only added to his appeal– something about the way they strained against his broad shoulders, emphasizing the power beneath them drove her crazy.

Cole nipped along her neck and chin, getting tantalizingly close to her lips, but purposely missing them infuriatingly. Elsa slipped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer to her in an attempt to get him to stop teasing her. He moaned as her lips opened against his, inviting him to explore her mouth wantonly.

Elsa was all passion, all the time– even her taste, cigarettes, brandy, and something undoubtedly feminine combined to form an incapacitating experience that kept the young detective coming back for more. She waited for him with open arms, enjoying every bit of their coupling as he did. He could never be too much for her: too passionate, too demanding, too rough even. If anything, Elsa was more insatiable than him, a maddening comparison to his distant wife.

They kissed ardently, both forgetting about everything outside the small dressing room. Cole moved, pressing her up against the wall as he did so. He lifted Elsa's fitted skirt, allowing her to pull her leg up over his hip. She ground against his hips seductively, placing one of Cole's hands on her thigh invitingly. He pulled away from her mouth to look at her, pressed up against the wall, eyelids heavy with lust– much like his must be. In this moment, he couldn't think of anything but her, anything but what he was doing. Although when it would be time to leave, the guilt would come creeping back, the unrelenting stress from work crashing down on him, threatening to pull him under; for now, there was Elsa, there was always Elsa.

* * *

Her fingers wound around his tie, curling suggestively as she slid them down its entire length and back up. Her eyes glinting promiscuously, lips parted slightly. Cole brushed her fingers away, giving her a smirk as he undid the silk tie, letting it fall to the floor softly. She helped him open the buttons on his shirt, placing a kiss on his chest every time a new area was bared. He shrugged out of his holster, carefully setting it on a nearby table, not wanting to let his gun hit the floor. He let his white shirt slip off onto the floor, moaning with closed eyes as he felt Elsa run her hands over his chest. She ghosted her nails over his muscles, watching with knowing eyes as he responded to her touch. He rested his forehead on her shoulder, groaning slightly in pain and in pleasure as her fingers found his bullet-wound.

"If you're going to be so…vocal… perhaps you should have waited until I was at my apartment." She whispered, her voice low and sensual.

"I'm sure I'm not the one you should be worried about– besides, everyone here knows your voice, Elsa." Cole simpered, nipping at the juncture of her earlobe and neck.

Elsa groaned, biting her lip against the moan building in the back of her throat. Cole knew exactly what to do to drive her mad– but love is a two-way street after all.

Elsa smiled as she pushed him off of her lightly, "Speaking of voices, I believe my break is almost up." She smirked as she saw the complete surprise form into disappointment on Cole's face. "I wouldn't want to leave them waiting…" her voice low, teasing Cole with her obvious double entendre.

"So, you're going back then?" Cole questioned, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone. Sure Elsa could be a tease, but she'd never gotten him worked up just so she could leave before. That was cruel, even for her.

"Yes, I am." She replied, smoothing down her skirt in the process, "I don't get off until midnight, and I wouldn't want to be caught missing again like last week. People might talk Cole…"

"So you're just going to leave me now, like this?" He offered, arms open.

Cole stepped closer to her, letting her eyes rake down his lithe, muscular torso. Her eyes drifted lower to where she could see his pronounced arousal under his pants. She flicked back to meet his, a hint of a smirk playing at her lips.

"You have hands, don't you?" And with that, she slipped out of the dressing room, leaving Cole to groan in exasperation.

* * *

Cole mumbled curses to himself as he gathered his clothes, hurriedly trying to dress himself again before anyone decided to show up in her dressing room. Contrary to how it appeared, the Blue Room wasn't so wealthy that it had multiple dressing rooms for its performers, and Cole didn't want to risk startling the next act with his current appearance. He walked over to her mirror to check that his tie was straight, and that his thoughts of Rusty and the Chief in their briefs had indeed worked to rid his lower half of any amorous thoughts. He scooped up his hat, tugging it in place before leaving the room, taking the alleyway exit to avoid being seen.

_Shit… I left my jacket at the coat check_.

Cole quickly walked back around to the front of the club, not bothering to smile back at the doorman as he greeted him again. He paced up to the counter of the coat check area, however the woman who took his coat was nowhere to be seen.

"Dammit!" Cole's eyes fell on a small sign placed on the counter– _On break, will be back in 10 minutes. Sorry for the inconvenience! _"Well, isn't that just perfect." Cole glanced down at his wristwatch, noting the fact that he had 7 minutes left before Elsa's set finished for the night. _No way in hell am I missing out again because of my damn jacket._ He glanced around stealthily, and seeing as there was no one directly in his vicinity, he hopped over the counter, scrambled to find his jacket, and then hopped back over again. He turned his head to the interior doors, the loud applause signalling Elsa had finished for the night. He rushed out of the front doors, pulling his jacket on as he made his way towards the back exit of the club. Thankfully the rain had ceased, although a fairly chilly wind lingered– abnormal for this time of year. Cole propped himself up against the wall as he lit a cigarette, closing his eyes as he inhaled, feeling the tiny fingers of smoke curl in his throat and nose. He exhaled, watching the motions of the smoke dissipate into the breeze. His empty hand found his pocket, and clutched a small box inside reassuringly.

. . .

Small clicking sounds began to approach the door, and Cole stepped out from under the flickering bulb above him, slinking into the shadows with practiced movements. He threw the unfinished cigarette to the asphalt, smothering it with his shoe quietly. His hands flipped up the collar of his jacket, and lowered the brim of his hat deftly. He stood, listening to her footsteps grow closer to the corner where he stood, he watched as she strode past, oblivious to his presence, instead focussed on retrieving something from the depths of her purse. Her head turned slightly, as if to search for something behind her, too late to help her as a man grabbed her roughly from behind, shoving her up against the wall.

Elsa hissed as she hit the wall, her cheek pressed against the rough brick as the man held her fast against it. She dropped her purse, thinking that was the cause for all of this– praying it wasn't something less material he was after.

"I have no money or drugs– check if you want but leave me be." Elsa spat, struggling against his iron grip on her waist and neck.

Cole smirked slightly at her actions. Any other broad would have shrieked or called attention to the situation, most times that was the final straw that put the bullet through their head, or some other blow to fall on them. With the exception of her intermittent struggle against his grip, Elsa hadn't shown the typical responses of a victim– no panic, begging, obvious fear– if he was a criminal she was doing the best thing possible, not showing fear in most cases is off-putting to those who do this, as they get off on the power they have over others.

Elsa was something different.

He leaned his head closer to her ear, "I just want what you offered before, dear." His hands softened in their hold, his body pressed up against hers suggestively.

Elsa's breath hitched for a second before a grin spread across her lips, deciding to play along with her detective, she feigned innocence, "What exactly would that be?" She turned her head further, straining to gaze at him with parted lips over her shoulder, arching her behind into his hips.

Cole shuddered against her, closing his eyes as his hands skimmed over her hips, pulling them closer to him, desperate for some friction. "You know exactly what I mean…" He breathed throatily, sucking on the side of her neck languidly.

Elsa relented in her side of the charade, turning to face him with her wanton stare that made his heart stutter in its rhythm. She whispered his name in a lust-drenched tone before her lips met his in a desperate, needy reunion. She inhaled deeply, longing to remember exactly how his tongue curled around hers, how his hands were reserved in their actions, yet how they held her fast against his hips. The way his breath would catch when she let her hand travel down the planes of his chest, lower over each dip and crevice of his lean torso.

"Maybe we s…should go back to…" her eyes closed as Cole began to kiss down her neck again, "back to my ah– apartment" Elsa whimpered.

Cole groaned in annoyance again, lifting his head to meet her heavy-lidded eyes, "I guess an alleyway isn't the most discrete a venue, is it?" He smiled, nipping at her mouth a few times playfully. "I just hope that you won't find some excuse to deprive me once we get there." A chuckle hinted in his throat.

Elsa smirked and turned their positions so he was up against the wall. Her painted fingernails travelled down his chest, hooking under the hem of his pants. His eyes widened for a moment as her fingers curled around him.

She slowly turned her devilish eyes to meet his, "By the end of tonight, you'll be the one pushing me away, detective." With one final tantalizing squeeze, she withdrew her hands, and whispered, "Last one there's on the bottom."

All Cole could do was stare after her, slack jawed.

* * *

Elsa smiled as she hurried up the stairs to her apartment, allowing herself a quiet laugh at her actions. Before she had gotten involved with Detective Phelps, she had been a completely different person. Perhaps their mutual sorrow was the catalyst for their relationship. After her closest friends had died, she had seriously contemplated following him to the other side. On that same evening that her manager had called Dr. Fontaine to make a "house call", she had been introduced to Cole by a lesser man– Detective Roy Earle. She had yearned to see a face of justice that wasn't also a face of crime since moving to L.A. As a singer in a fairly popular club, she saw seedy transactions take place, saw the plans for crime drawn up at the very tables she sang in front of. Her heart sank as she saw Roy walk into her room that day– his presence continually disgusted her. However, what picked up her spirits was the bright eager face of his partner, Detective Cole Phelps, a praised war hero, family man, and above all, known for his honesty and ethics. She started seeing him in the audience after that day, occasionally at first, then more and more frequent. She remembered the first night he had asked to see her backstage– she still had the note he had sent tucked in her locked drawer in her dressing room. He had asked for a kiss, a chaste one at that when she thought of it. There was something in how he held her– like he was wary of her; a strange, exotic beauty. That feeling of being wanted, being respected even, by a man had been so completely contrary to her previous experiences that she had asked to see him again sometime. Their private meetings had gone on for a while, before Elsa agreed to becoming more physical. They had opted for a more private setting, and seeing as Phelps' house was not an option, they had spent the night in her sparsely furnished apartment. She smiled at the memory of that night, that awful, perfect night. He had gotten upset immediately after, realizing what he had done. She had tried to comfort him to no avail, instead if anything she had driven him away. That is, until she found him waiting in her dressing room with a rose two days later. From then on in, they didn't talk about the reasons for their actions, they just… did; felt, kissed with no guilt and no shame. Elsa knew deep down that Cole wasn't hers to keep, and that he still adored his wife. She wanted it that way, however, she didn't want to be his wife, but instead his lover. There was no responsibility, no mundane tasks to live through. Instead, the only time she saw him, was when he needed her; that feral glint in his eyes, the way he whispered her name. Those were the only memories she wanted to share with him.

. . .

Phelps watched as Elsa rounded the top of the stairs, her face divulging the surprise at the fact that Phelps had beaten her to the room. He waited to tease her until they had the door safely locked behind them.

"Looks like you'll be on the bottom then, Elsa. Although if I remember correctly, you always did favour that position." He grinned wolfishly.

"You're lucky I don't slap you for that." Elsa simpered, taking his hat off, and tossing it over onto a table. "Any other woman might."

Phelps wrapped his arms around her, "Yes, but you aren't any other woman Elsa."

He kissed her slowly, his fingers working to let her hair down from her complicated updo. After a few futile attempts, Elsa chuckled and pulled away to help him. He watched as she easily deconstructed it, her silky hair slipping down around her shoulders as she set a few hairpins on the counter.

Cole's fingers tightened around the box in his pocket, "I've got something for you…"

Elsa's eyes widened cautiously; one of the things they both had agreed upon was the informality of their relationship. She was about to remind him of their agreement when he interrupted.

"I know we talked about this, but I thought it was kind of fitting, somehow." He held out the small box in his hand, offering it to her.

"Cole…" Elsa warned, her arms over her chest.

"Come on, at least look at it before you refuse." He joked, despite the serious look in his eyes.

She took the box wordlessly, unwrapping the small black ribbon with deft movements. Cole watched her, anxious to see her face when she opened it. She looked at him, giving one last reprimanding glance before lifting the lid. Her fingers lifted a small gold chain with a tiny pendant out of the box.

As she examined the pendant, her eyes twinkled slightly, "Janus?"

Cole nodded once, "Two faces, just like us." He walked over to her again, setting the box down. He took the chain from her hands, and fastened it around her neck, "Like this city, actually…"

She turned to face him, smiling as she wrapped her arms around him, "Fitting indeed." She brought her mouth to meet his, letting her eyes flutter close as she gave in to him.

They wasted no time in undressing each other, now that they were alone. Cole laid Elsa down on her bed beneath him, taking a moment to savour the beauty that lay waiting for him. She had let her hair down, its brown lengths splaying across the pillow in soft waves. Her fingers ran up his toned arms to his neck before running through his kempt locks. He pulled her hand away, kissing her palm and down her arm to her shoulder. Her green eyes sparkled under the stray lights that slipped in through her blinds, creating a stripe pattern across Cole's sinewy back. She moaned unabashedly as his kisses travelled lower to her breast, his fingers tangled in her hair. She ran her fingers down his chest revelling in the silky ripples of muscle under her hands.

A throaty moan ripped through Cole as Elsa again started teasing him with her hands. His grip on her shoulder tightened as she started moving them up and down, giving him some of that delicious friction his hips had been searching for. His hands travelled lower down over her smooth hips, further until her eyes lit up, her back arched off the bed, and she sputtered his name, writhing under him.

"It appears you can dish it out Elsa, but you can't take it." Cole smirked down at her, watching her unravel under his touch.

"We'll see…a..about th..thaaaat Cole…" Elsa managed to pant, resuming her tortuous movements.

They remained, stubbornly in their positions, both trying to hold on a little longer than the other, neither wanting it to stop or to ask for it to. Finally Cole decided to up the ante, and he entered her suddenly, watching her face transform to match his own expression of pleasure. He held still for a moment, allowing them both to drink in the moment, before he moved, their voices harmonizing as time passed.

Elsa lay awake for a while after Cole had fallen asleep. She fiddled with the pendant around her neck, opening her eyes to stare at the cracked ceiling. She rolled over onto Cole's chest, watching her hand rise and fall along with the rhythm of his breathing.

"Cole?" she whispered after a while, not really wanting to wake him from his slumber.

He opened his eyes slowly, the signs of fatigue still on his face, "Mhhh."

Elsa smiled at his form of reply, "I've been thinking…"

Cole sat up to rest on his elbows, "What about?"

She eased him back down, and crawled further on top of him, "I accept your gift."

Cole lifted his head to look at her, "You woke me up to tell me that?" he asked, his eyes playful despite his fatigue.

She smiled up at him, "I couldn't sleep."

He rolled his eyes and pulled her up closer to him. She snuggled against his chest as he wrapped an arm around her protectively.

* * *

_ The City of Angels, hardly deserving of its name– just ask any Joe Nobody on the street, and he'll attest to how fast this angel is going to hell. A city where hypocrisy exists in every corner, no one is innocent. Two-faced liars and swindlers– not just the governor or king pins of the drug wars, but also the husband, the wife: a city where nothing is as it appears. A city where if you take things at face value, you end up another stiff in the morgue. Some folks put the rare honest men on pedestals, praising their honesty as a beacon in a starless sky, then jeer as they come falling down– one tiny flaw that only proves their humanity. The very humanity they are sworn to protect and uphold turns out to be the very thing they have to protect us against._

_Isn't it ironic?_


End file.
